


2014 Is Not The End

by masamune



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 05:57:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masamune/pseuds/masamune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ongoing set of short fics about Dean Winchester and Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. telling it like it is. ( dean/cas )

**Author's Note:**

> I tend to write small pieces at a time - this is going to be where I dump all of the ones from 2013 up until 2014 (when the episode The End takes place) aaaand some may be related, I'll make notes of that when it happens. Mostly Dean/Castiel, mostly hurt/comfort/tragedy/DESPAIR/comedy. There might even be AU stuff and similar things, but those will be warned for in the subsequent titles.

> “You dumb son of a bitch.”
> 
> There’s no answer. He knew there wouldn’t be. A small tilt to the side, a quick glance away - that’s all that was said. That was all that _needed_ to be said.
> 
> “Did you even think of… Even once? About how shitty this might be for me? Or Sam?”
> 
> “No.”
> 
> The reply is curt. He would never have it any other way, in another lifetime. No. He had left, stayed away - been _trapped_ \- and hadn’t thought about what might be. And could be, so very easily. Not _once?_ Not once. Of course.
> 
> “Damn it,” It hurt, similar to a carnal tearing in his chest, reminiscent of what led to their first encounter.
> 
> “I did not… Even now. I do not deserve to think of you,” Thump. Rip. Invisible blood dripped onto the floor from an emotional wound being reopened. “For what I have done in my entire _existence_ \- I deserved to be kept away from you.”
> 
> “…What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Drip, drip.The blood would drip faster because of the increase in his heart rate.
> 
> “The pain of everything I had done… I needed to feel it. Locked away there, I couldn’t stand it. And that’s how it should have been for-”
> 
> “Oh, come on.” Dripdripdripdrip. There’s a soft breath in return - strange how human moments like this could be. Could angels breathe? Did they fill their borrowed lungs with air?
> 
> “I needed to be punished. If I had let my thoughts wander to you… I would have been happy. Something I do not deserve,” _Drip._ “…Honestly, you are too important to me, I couldn’t let myself live in a fantasy that I did not earn.”
> 
> Silence. No noise in existence could replicate the emotions inside. The dripping was burned away by a firestorm.All that remained was tired, beaten ash.
> 
> “…You _dumb_ son of a bitch.”


	2. pretentious things spoken ( crowley/castiel )

> He was once told that he didn’t have a soul, and there was nothing in the world more honest than that one simple fact. He had passed his soul - if you could call it that - on for a bigger toy and had never looked back.
> 
> Maybe one little glance, however.
> 
> _Just one._ “Poor sod,” at this point, he didn’t know whether he meant himself or his prey. _Prey_ would indicate that life still beat within that stolen body, but the soulless king was definitely certain that nothing remained inside save a few organs that once belonged to a man from Illinois.
> 
> The soulless king had turned away to dramatically flounce from the scene of the crime, despite there being no audience that still breathed. But the aforementioned _glance_ \- that’s all it was - had caught up with him, and after struggling with himself for a near full minute, the king spun on his heel and returned to the spot he had been in. The spot where he had taken the divine one’s life.
> 
> _Huh._
> 
> There was a second where the soulless king could have sworn he felt a beating in his own chest - the annoying prats that seemed to fawn over the divine one would bitch and _whine_ that this was, in fact, _not_ his body, but the _king_ had taken it and claimed it as his own long, long ago. He had done more with it than the original sap, thank you very _much_. While lost in his thoughts of a heartbeats and the thrum of flapping feathers, he had knelt down on one knee, a finger trailing through the ash that had exploded in a particular pattern from the body. The details were so fine that the soulless king could see the details of feathers on the concrete, and for a moment he felt regret.
> 
> The divine should have died on the king’s own floor, or perhaps against his wall. Not in a warehouse where no one would find him, not until the ashen impressions were lost. _Sigh._ He would have the imprints lodged in his memory forever at least - a fine tribute to someone worthy of his time. A fine tribute to someone worthy of him. With a smile, the king stood, pulling an iPhone out and scrolling past a photo of a certain old drunk and a few more of various Instagram’d half-empty Craig bottles - don’t you _dare_ judge him, he’s the bloody king - and settled on deleting a few that had been accidentally sent to him. More space needed, as usual.
> 
> The photos, though. Funnily enough, from the divine himself. Getting him a touchscreen phone was the best idea the king has had all century. With the random arse shots and static-filled voice-mails were text messages filled with nonsense such as “dgaiujhgd” and “o2465f565” and - the king’s favourite - “ヽ(￣д￣;)ノ=3=3=3” He had saved those, but deleting the photos was necessary. He needed room for one last shot of his divine one.
> 
> Holding the phone out towards the body, he smiled once more. In a way, it was his farewell.
> 
> “Say cheese, love.”


	3. my little pony is bigger than your little pony ( dean/castiel )

> “Damn it, Cas. Pinkie Pie is definitely more badass than Twilight Sparkle.”
> 
> “Dean, you’re speaking on behalf of a bias. The one called…” Cas has to squint at the screen, rereading the name of the purple equine mammal. “…Twilight Sparkle has more variables that—”
> 
> “ _Variables?_ It’s a kid’s show, there’s no _variables_ in that.”
> 
> ”You are the one who brought it up, Dean.” Neither of them are sure why they’re arguing over this. Nor how it had even gotten to that point.”Twilight Sparkle is equipped—”
> 
> “ _Equipped?_ ”
> 
> “—with more suitable—”
> 
> “ _Suitable?_ ”
> 
> “—parts that could be used as weaponry.” For some reason, Dean didn’t seem to think that “weaponry” was worth complaining about.
> 
> “So, what… just because she has a horn means she’s suddenly the Chuck Norris of Ponyville?” Despite being the one to bring up badassery in ponies, Dean’s expression is the most incredulous. This only spurs Castiel to continue, to show him why he was wrong.
> 
> “The one known as Twilight Sparkle also seems to have a great deal of knowledge. Not only can she impale her enemies—”
> 
> “Kid’s show, Cas.”
> 
> “—but she will know their weaknesses better than any. Also… if her name is to be of any hint… she sparkles.”
> 
> There’s a pause. “Uh, what the hell does that mean?”
> 
> “Perhaps she can distract others, even blind them,” Castiel points to the screen, which is paused on the pink pony, Dean’s apparent choice. “If that is the case, Pinky Pie may be able to summon pies, but—”
> 
> “Yeah, end of discussion.”


End file.
